May We Dance
by BeTheChangeYouSee
Summary: When HYDRA pulls the rug out from under you, it's best to unleash hell upon them as a very pointed "FUCK YOU". At least, this is what Darcy's done, and it's worked out pretty well for her. If only she could figure out what the hell HYDRA wants with her in the first place.
1. The End

Hey hey! The response for _Of Man and Machine_ was good, so I'm sharing the sequel here. I tossed up about it, mostly because I post on AO3 and I've been pretty turned off here, especially since I got immature reviews on two of my fics from someone who'd never even read them and this website wouldn't get rid of it. But I suppose I shouldn't let that stop me from sharing with you guys, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy!

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 _"Though we tremble before uncertain futures_ _may we meet illness, death and adversity with strength_ _may we dance in the face of our fears."_ \- Gloria Anzaldúa

 **Now: Date Unknown, Location Unknown**

 _Darcy Lewis_

 _Wham!_

The sound of Darcy's ribs cracking as fist meets chest echoes in her ears, dazing her enough that she fails to realise she is airborne until her back slams against roughly-hewn rock. Air leaves her with a whoosh, and the tang of copper fills her mouth. Lungs burning, throat tightening, she reels. Her foggy brain is shouting at her body, _screaming_ , unable to move but _needing_ to, because to stop is to die and _she isn't done yet_.

Someone screams in the background, a wordless cry that reverberates against shield and rock and body. Agony, hot as a poker and twice as sharp, rents the air with its wail, and something, dancing out of reach like the fairies of her childhood, tells Darcy that it was for her. That that pain is _because_ of her.

Out of the corner of her darkening vision, a figure flitters into view, pace swift and graceful yet no less violently forceful than if he were stalking a mark. With a practiced strike, he catches her attacker, towering over her and fist raised to finish her, off guard, causing him to stumble away. But what would have shattered a normal man's skull only leaves her attacker stunned for a moment, and he quickly recovers to bat away the steely fist, stepping into that deadly dance of blows that she had just lost.

Too dazed to know anything but fear – fear for herself, fear for Bucky – she lays there. Heart beating a tattoo into her chest, head throbbing. Pain makes her unable to keep up with the back and forth of the brawlers yet unable to turn her head to look away, her neck twinging sharply when she tries. In truth, she would not be capable of looking away, though, even if she could move; the pain did not stop her from feeling worry gnawing away at her soul, from needing to know the fight's end.

Her body has other plans. As she lays there, shock giving way to a bone-deep cold, black spots dance in her line of sight, expanding and consuming the bleak image of their demise. Consuming the bodies – _Natasha, Hulk, Groot, Vision, Steve_ , _**SamSamSAMNOSAM**_ – the blood, the metal, until nothing is left but blackness.

She enters it gladly.


	2. And So It Begins

Two chapters in one night, shock horror! Enjoyyyyy...

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 **Then: The Year 2014, Avengers Tower**

Everything hurt.

This was Darcy's first realisation as her consciousness swum to the surface and her brain kicked into gear, the second being that it was loud. Everything hurt and everything was loud. Loud and bright, far brighter than she could comprehend. Really fucking bright. It made her cringe behind her eyelids as the white light pierced her brain through her eyeballs, radiating throughout her entire body. It hurt. Head to toe. Everything hurt.

Her face was completely numb and felt stretched, as if the skin was tugged so tight over her cheekbones that it cracked, yet she could feel her lips curling into a grimace of displeasure that could hardly convey the amount of pain she was in. As the expression pulled at her mouth and cheeks, something shuffled off to her right side, like a book closing or someone sitting up in a chair, and she flinched, recoiling away as something shook loose in her head.

Whirring shackles clasped down on her arms, pinning her in place. She struggled against them, pitiful sounds escaping her ajar mouth as he hovered over her, his displeasure evident in the curl of his lip.

"Please calm down, Miss Lewis. Or is it Levin? My superiors were unclear on– please do quiet down. Your fear – while understandable – is quite unnecessary. Distracting, even. You wouldn't want to distract us as we work, would you?"

Sobs raked their way up her throat, bruising–

The pressure on her throat grew stronger. With a jolt, she came to, only to realise that something foreign was pressing down on the back of her throat and shecouldn'tbreatheohg–

Darcy gagged around the blockage. The gagging only made things worse, shifting whatever it was in her throat so that it rubbed at the dried out nerves until they were raw and stinging. Shooting upwards, she clawed at her face, hoping to dislodge the thing, but it was no use. Suddenly, hands were gripping her forearms and pulling them away, and with limbs as heavy as Darcy's were, resistance was impossible. Someone above her – the person holding her down? – was shouting, although it was too much for her muddled brain to string the sounds into understandable words. The shouting was just so loud, overly loud, and made her head scream in agony as it shot through her head like a bullet.

HYDRA, a voice inside her head screamed. It had to be HYDRA. She'd thought that she – but no. Her escape was a dream, then, something she'd concocted with her fried imagination to help herself cope. She'd never left them. She'd ever escaped her nightmare or destroyed the ones that had destroyed her. They'd stopped her – they'd won.

The thought had her struggling. It made everything worse. More shouting. More hands holding her down. One voice frantically babbling about choking while another barked orders. An awful gargling sound met her ears, and it took her a moment to register from the scraping in her throat that it was her. Her chest constricted, but her throat burnt every time she tried to breathe. She couldn't breathe. And then–

It stopped hurting. Instead, she felt like her body was floating through a cloud, rising higher and higher as the pain faded away. She still couldn't breathe, but it stopped worrying her. At least they had the decency to drug her before they took her apart again, she mused distantly.

"Darcy!" the frantic voice called. "Darcy, I'm sorry!"

In the midst of the floating, Darcy managed to crack an eye open. A woman, teary and wan, leant over her, her straight brown hair falling in Darcy's face. She looked familiar, despite the tears, dangerously familiar, and her face nagged at Darcy's memory.

Jane, thought Darcy, and then the darkness consumed her.

While she floated in the darkness, Darcy dreamed. Colours, jewel-like and bubbly, danced across her vision, sharpening to give way to people and objects before hazing again in turn. Vaguely, she knew she should try to remember the things she was seeing, try to commit the people and the things they said to memory, but her head felt sluggish, her eyes tired, and every time she tried to recall anything it just floated away with the images. After a while, the urgency left her too, until she could only feel the vaguest sense of alarm.

The first time Darcy truly woke up for any length of time, the tube they'd shoved down her throat was gone and her head was much clearer. That didn't stop her from hyperventilating when the white coats loomed over her, or from trying to fight them off with her aching limbs as they tried to take vitals, though, and it was only Jane and Thor bursting through the door that prevented a full-blown panic attack.

Jane shooed away all the doctors, practically spitting venom as she forced them out the door, while Thor strode to Darcy's side and manoeuvred himself into the guest chair conveniently set by Darcy's bedside. He perched gingerly on the edge of it, looking far too broad to sit back comfortably lest the spindly chair snap under his weight, and took her hand, squeezing it with a gentleness that seemed out of place on the hulking Norse god.

He met her gaze with sorrowful blue eyes as he said softly, "Darcy." His usually booming voice was softer than she had ever heard it, for which her still-throbbing head was thankful. "Darcy, I am so sorry, my friend."

Tears filled her eyes as Darcy told herself not to cry. She shook her head, trying to both clear it and tell Thor that he had nothing to apologise for, but the movement pulled at her throat and made her shudder. Thor seemed to understand, wincing sympathetically and rubbing soothing circles into her hand. That, more than anything, just made her want to physically tell him that everything was ok, yet the words found themselves stuck in her desert of a mouth.

Completely devoid of saliva, Darcy felt like a rat died in her mouth and hadn't yet been cleared out. It added an extra dimension of suck to the whole 'my-body-aches-all-over' thing she had going on, and she wanted nothing more than to wash her mouth out to get rid of the taste and to help her out with the talking thing. As if sensing her dilemma, Jane hurried over, pulling a bottle of water out of her handbag, giving Darcy an encouraging nod as she took a sip. Swallowing stung, but her mouth was less death-like almost immediately.

"Thank you," she murmured, regretting it almost instantly as her throat flared up again. She took another sip and gave Jane a small smile that tugged painfully at her sensitive lips.

Jane smiled back, but it was more of a grimace than anything positive. "Don't talk," she said, gripping Darcy's free hand. "Let your body heal, you've been through enough."

Darcy flinched, a full-bodied thing that made her groan as she bothered injuries she hadn't even realised she had.

"Sorry, sorry," said Jane, her grimace more pronounced. She bit her lip and continued. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it now – and you shouldn't have to until you're ready! – but Steve and Tony are going to want to ask you about… about what happened."

Sensing Darcy's confusion, Jane went on, "They were the ones that rescued you. Well, Steve was, with Agent Romanoff and their friend Sam. They were a bit worried that bringing in the Iron Man suit might make HYDRA panic and kill their hostages, so Stark coordinated. He was the one that figured out HYDRA was the one that had you and not some human trafficking ring in Eastern Europe.

"They said they'll wait until you're feeling better before they come asking questions, but," Jane paused, "they do have questions. What they found at the base… They need to know what they're dealing with."

Thor and Jane exchanged a look. Darcy just felt cold as she bit her lip and nodded in agreement, trying to avoid looking at either of them. The thought of telling anyone about what HYDRA had done made her feel sick to her stomach but Jane was right. They needed to know what they were up against, especially if some of the others who weren't as nice as her turned up at some point. She flinched again as Jane touched her cheek, concern etched into the lines of her face, and Darcy realised she had been biting her lip so hard as to draw blood.

"OK," she whispered, ignoring the twinge in her throat and the images that rose to mind with it. But a thought occurred to her, and she frowned, looking down at her hands in Thor and Jane's on top of her sheets. "How long?"

"How long 'til they come and talk to you?" Jane questioned. "I'm not sure, depends on how you're feeling." When Darcy shook her head, Jane made a small oh sound, her face falling. "Oh, Darcy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that it took us so long to find you."

"How long?" Darcy repeated huskily.

Thor gave her hand a squeeze. "You were with the foe known as HYDRA for two and a half months," he told her, "although it has only been the last few days that we have been aware of HYDRA's role in your taking."

Two and a half months.

The tears gathered in her eyes started to drip down her cheeks and she sniffed, breathing out shakily in an attempt to steady herself. She knew, when she was in the facility, that it had been a long time, but she hadn't realised how long. Time was a foreign concept at the time, measured only through intermittent feeding and doctors' visits, and the drugged haze she had spent most of her time in hadn't helped. Two months, though, two months just … just stolen from her; two months of her life that she would never get back or be able to ever forget for as long as she lived.

It was hard to come to terms with.

"My dear Darcy," said Thor. His words shook her out of her melancholy, disrupting the agony tearing at her heart, if not for a short while. He gave her a warm smile. "I have missed you greatly. If you approve, it would be a comfort to hug you."

That was when she lost it. She gave a small laugh that turned into a sob, nodding her head as Thor wrapped her up in a warm bear hug.

How to describe Thor's hugs? Softer than one would expect from a Norse god, they were like being wrapped up in a blanket in December, socks on your feet and hot chocolate in hand. They were happy smiles and drinks with friends after a long week at work. They were happy and warm and made her feel as though she would never be hurt again.

But Jane's hugs were better. Jane was her sister in all but name, her rock, the Arthur to her Lancelot. Where she went, Darcy followed. And so, as Darcy was transferred into the smaller woman's arms, she finally felt at home.

In the week between Darcy waking up and meeting the Avengers for the first time, Jane and Thor did their best to catch her up to speed. She found out that she was no longer in Romania or wherever it was HYDRA had kept her, but the good ol' US of A, at Avengers Tower in New York to be precise. Since being rescued by Captain Rogers – the Captain Rogers, as in Captain America himself – she had been recovering in their medical ward under the strict eye of the brilliant Dr Helen Cho, and making a lot of progress, according to Jane.

"Tony Stark invited us here too," explained Jane, brushing a stray hair out of her face. "Gave me a job, as well. Y'know, because of the whole S.H.I.E.L.D. thing." She mimed an explosion with her hands, making a k-bshhh sound as she did so.

And wasn't that a shocker? That S.H.I.E.L.D., the pesky, iPod-stealing, science-disrupting, jack-booted thugs, had turned out to be hiding actual Nazis in their ranks in the form of HYDRA, and so Captain America had no choice but to burn it to the ground. All their agents had scattered, either having killed each other, been arrested or fled to other government agencies in the ensuing chaos of the world intelligence agency imploding. In addition to that, all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets (and HYDRA's secrets, by extension) found themselves uploaded to the internet, courtesy of the 'Lady Natasha', which revealed the true depth of HYDRA's infestation and the levels they'd gone to for the purposes of maintaining power.

"It's how we found you," Jane said quietly. "Tony had JARVIS combing the data for any Avengers mention, and since you were one of the first to meet Thor, you made the cut." Her eyes filled with tears, and her grip on Darcy's hand tightened. "If it weren't for Tony, I don't know how we would have found you. Heimdall couldn't see you, so we had to go on what we knew, which was nothing, and S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't helping us and it made me so mad although it makes sense now, and Thor and I were just hounding police station after police station and talking to INTERPOL at one stage–"

Darcy had cut her off with a hug, uncomfortably aware of the sobs rattling Jane's tiny frame. Over Jane's shoulder, Thor sent her what he probablythought was a soft smile but appeared more as if he were smelling Erik's vile homemade "remedies". That look spoke volumes as to the panic and the confusion her kidnapping and subsequent disappearance caused, but it was only later, as Jane toddled away with the babbled excuse of food, that she was able to ask Thor what Jane had meant about Heimdall.

Looking uncomfortable, he answered, "I asked Heimdall to look for you, and yet he was unable to see you." Thor shifted in his seat, avoiding her gaze as he appeared to think over his response. Finally, he explained, "At times, his gaze has failed, but it does not do so often. My brother … he had the gift to shield himself from Heimdall, and no doubt others do as well. But to shield one for so long … only the Norns have such power."

"The Norns?" she asked, feeling her breath shorten.

His response struck a sense of foreboding deep into her chest and left her even more uneasy, though she wasn't sure why. What he was saying felt … right, somehow, it resonated with her even though she didn't understand it. Perhaps it was the vibe she'd gotten from Thor, whose brows furrowed deeper and whose grimace became an all-out frown, or even just her fear talking.

Or maybe it's because someone has told you this before, a voice at the back of her head taunted, and she swallowed uncomfortably.

Electric blue eyes met slate grey ones.

"The Norns are those that weave the fate of the worlds," said Thor gravely. "It is said that they tend to the roots of Yggdrasill with water from the Well of Urðr, and appear at the birth of a child to decide their fate."

Darcy's breath hitched.

"It means," he continued, a grim set to his jaw as he watched her face fall even further, "that your taking was fated to be."

At that point, Darcy realised that there was a wetness dripping down her cheek. Exhaling sharply in annoyance at herself, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, which Thor caught and clasped gently between his much larger ones. It warmed her, the fact that this larger than life, actual god was willing to take time to comfort her, especially when he probably had better things to do, like barbeque monsters with his lightning powers.

"No, Lady Darcy," Thor rumbled, and it occurred to Darcy that she'd said that last thing out loud. As Thor shook his head, Darcy felt her cheeks pink. "No. You are a dear friend to me and your health is of paramount concern, as is the health of all my friends on Midgard. I would see you well before attending to other matters."

The urge to sob became unbearable as the Norse god enfolded her into his arms, holding her tightly and hushing the strangled keening coming from her throat. Dazedly, she felt him climbing clumsily onto the hospital bed next to her, only jostling her slightly as he did so, and a moment later, to her surprise, another warm body burrowed into her other side and latched on, limpet-like.

"Jane," she hiccupped, clutching at a handful of her friend's shirt. She let out a bitter bark of laughter, then took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I'm sorry, guys, I'm a mess. I can't seem to stop crying."

Jane hummed, and Thor's grip on her grew tighter as the god rumbled, "That is OK, Lady Darcy. You may cry all you want and we shall still be here for you."

And so she had, for almost a whole week. The last time she'd cried that much had been just after the apartment fire, when her dad had– and nope, she was not going to think about that when she was already crying, it was a recipe for disaster. That time was still worse, of course, but it was truly made worse for having no one to cry with. Thor and Jane kept Thor's word and barely left her side the entire time, and she eventually had to send them away because they were suffocating her and she needed space to clear her head and figure stuff out.

Their protectiveness had given her little time to take things in and process it, but she adjusted quickly. Her days in the med ward left her familiar with her little room – five feet by five feet, with an attached bathroom suite that she wasn't cleared to use by herself, a massive bed ten times more comfortable that any other hospital bed she had ever used and a state-of-the-art television that accessed all the channels Darcy knew and about one hundred she didn't – and her doctors, to the point that she and Helen were on a first name basis. Helen hadn't seen fit to discharge her to Jane and Thor's rooms yet, saying that she was far too weak to be without medical assistance, and Darcy, for once in her life, hadn't argued, although she foresaw a time in the future where the boredom far outweighed the pain that she'd complain non-stop until Helen let her out to save her own sanity. Until then, Darcy would chill and take advantage of the free drugs and TV and chance to relax.

Or that was the plan, until Tony Stark and Steve Rogers entered her room like a whirlwind of sleepless nights and bad news. Thor was out procuring coffee for Jane, and Jane only gave Darcy a look that told her she'd kick out the Avengers in a second if Darcy gave her the say-so before leaving Darcy to their mercy and slipping out of the room.

"Miss Lewis," said the Captain.

He was in slacks and a button-up, not the uniform, which initially threw her off because she had been expecting the red-white-and-blue and not grandpa chic. The only way she recognised him was because of his patriotic jawline and Dorito-like shoulder-to-waist ratio. Stark, the super-stylish multi-billionaire who had been on Darcy's TV screens since she'd immigrated to the US, was, by contrast, immediately recognisable even in jeans and a ratty tee.

They both exchanged significant looks before the Captain settled at her feet and Stark flopped into Jane's recently vacated seat, getting up and standing by Rogers when he shot him a dark look of reprimand. Rogers cleared his throat, nodding again at Darcy.

"Ma'am, we just have a few questions for you, if that's alright," he said, studiously ignoring at his side mouthing 'Ma'am'. When Darcy nodded, the Captain continued. "I know this will be hard for you, but we need you to think back. Did HYDRA have any reason for taking you?"

Darcy's mouth went dry, and she cleared her throat, saying croakily, "They were asking about Jane and her research. They wanted to know how to make an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, and what the Convergence was, and so on. I'm just the intern, I don't know anything about the science other than how to turn on and calibrate the machines when Jane tells me to."

Rogers nodded but a muscle in his jaw twitched subtly. It made Darcy shift uncomfortably and knot her hands in the sheets, gripping them tightly. In that moment, she wished she was wearing something other than a backless hospital gown. She needed her layers and layers of clothes and her kickass boots and the confidence she got from both to weather the hell that the conversation was already wrecking on her nervous system. Memories of HYDRA warred in her brain, and it took a few deep breaths and a lot of internal chanting to beat them away to the point where she could stand the look in Rogers' eye.

Stark seemed to notice her internal freakout, though, because patted Rogers bodily on the chest before retaking the seat he'd abandoned and giving Darcy a friendly smile.

"Hi." The only way to describe how he had greeted her was chirped, and it threw Darcy right off. "Boy Scout's just a bit tense, spent the last few weeks having the shit beaten out of him by Nazis, you know how it is."

Rogers's whispered "Stark!" was drowned out by Darcy's unexpected peals of laughter. Stark's jaw dropped in surprise and, if anything, it made her laugh harder and louder than she had before. The stunned look on his face was just hilarious, and the alarm that passed between him and Rogers at her laughter was even more so. She found herself laughing so hard that tears dripped down her face as it began to border on hysteria.

"I didn't think it was that funny," commented Stark, eyeing her worriedly.

Her laughter bubbled down into giggles as she told him honestly, "It wasn't really, it's just … you're not wearing the kiddie gloves, it's refreshing." She wiped the tears away, plastering a rueful smile across her face. "I mean, I know I basically cry at the drop of a hat, but everyone keeps treating me like I'm made out of glass."

"Well," said Stark, "I promise not to treat you like glass. You can hold me to that. Steve here keeps telling me that I have all the tact of a raging bull in a china shop, which is … rude but a fair assessment."

Rogers looked like he was trying very hard to stay serious and not smile, but the twitching of his lips gave him away. He inched closer to Stark, pausing as he briefly rested a hand on the older – younger? – man's shoulder, and turned to face Darcy, contrition playing at his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I might have come across as a bit harsh," he apologised. He bit his bottom lip briefly before rearranging his features into a sure mask. "But HYDRA … we need to stop them, and anything you can tell us will be very helpful."

"I'm not sure how much help I can be," frowned Darcy. She wasn't lying, per se, because she truly didn't know how helpful what she knew would be, but even though she had agreed to talk to the Avengers about her captivity, she was loath to relive it. "They kept me drugged most of the time when they were … doing things."

Nodding, Rogers' eyes darted quickly to Stark before returning to her face.

"Miss Lewis–"

"Darcy."

"Darcy," he said, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "We have evidence to suggest that HYDRA's interest to you isn't what we first theorised."

The dry mouth was back again, as was that deeply uncomfortable feeling in her chest that she'd felt when Thor spoke of the Norns. Looking between both men, who looked suddenly quite grim, she couldn't help but want to burrow under her sheets and hide. Instead, she asked, in a voice that felt so unlike herself, so timid, that she was almost taken aback, "What do you mean?"

It was Stark who answered her. He looked her straight on, his eyes crinkling at the corners in sympathy, and he reached out to squeeze her head where it was still curled into the sheets. He paused, appearing to steel himself as he squeezed her hand again, and then he opened his mouth.

"HYDRA was watching you long before you ever met Jane Foster. They've been planning this for almost a decade."

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